Free Sins of a Wicked Duke by Sophie Jordan Page B

underling?” Dominic tilted his head. The large, raw-boned woman had terrified him in his childhood. With good reason. His hand flexed at his side.
    His grandfather’s gaze flicked to Dominic’s curled hand. “She caught you at cards. Your father nearly drove the dukedom into the ground with his gaming. Her reaction was not unfounded.” His chest swelled. “The trustees charged me with your rearing—”
    “Because the only living relation on my father’s side was a decrepit old aunt.”
    “Because I was a vicarand the second son to a baron. They knew you needed proper moral guidance—the very thing your father was incapable of giving.”
    “Yes. And Mrs. Pearce was a fine moral creature.”
    Emotion flickered in the old man’s eyes. His voice faded. “I reprimanded her for her zealous measures that day.”
    “But you still kept her as my governess.”
    “She had your best interest at heart. As did I. You’ve your father’s blood in your veins after all…”
    Dominic’s hands tightened upon the counterpane. He had heard the rhetoric many times before. “Why are you here?” He waved a hand wearily. “Braving the proverbial den of iniquity?”
    “My last hope for your soul is to see you well and settled. I cannot embrace the comforts of Heaven until you do. If you marry a proper God-fearing woman you have a chance to not turn out like your father—”
    “You mean that’s the only thing keeping you alive? To get rid of you I merely need become ‘well and settled’?” He asked the question with deceptive lightness even as anger churned inside him, a violent burn through his blood. He crossed his arms behind his head, one finger tracing the mutilated skin of his palm. “Marriage, hmm. Now that is something to consider.”
    The worn lines of his grandfather’s face drooped, making him look like a sad-faced hound. Amazing that his mother, beautiful as everyone claimed—beautiful enough at the ripe age of seventeen to have snared a duke—sprang from this man’s loins.
    “Indeed. I have created a list of prospective candidates.” He patted his jacket where, presumably, the list hid. “All goodly women. Will you consider it?” His grandfather settled both hands on the brass-headed cane before him, waiting, it seemed, for Dominic’s answer.
    Sitting up, he punched his pillow several times. “Not bloody likely. You scarcely look hale and hearty. I’m wagering that you’re not going to last the winter, old man.” He smiled cruelly, dark anger swirling through him, potent and heady as a fine claret.
    “So you’ll continue as you are?” His grandfather raked him with pitiless eyes—familiar in their coldness. His gnarled hands flexed over the top of his cane. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you. Tales of your exploits abroad have carried here. You’ve become as wicked as your father.”
     
    Dominic smiled, inordinately pleased at the condemnation in his grandfather’s eyes. As a boy he had tried, again and again, to earn this man’s approval. Never succeeding. After a time, he decided it was easier to live up or, rather, down to the old man’s expectations. “Disappointing you is one of my life’s greatest ambitions.”
    “Do you not care for an heir?”
    Bitterness flooded him. “To carry on the grand tradition of this family?” Turning his neck, he forced the tension to ebb from his shoulders. “No thank you.”
    No doubt he would have turned out differently if his grandfather had been a different sort. Dominic wouldn’t lose himself every chance he got in sin and vice, searching for an escape from the numbness. He wouldn’t be all that was wicked…all that sent a woman like Fallon O’Rourke fleeing for cover.A good woman. Proper. Likely the sort his grandfather would approve of—even if she was of common stock, which he presumed she was. Rupert Collins cared more for one’s moral standing than societal.
    And Dominic approved of her, too.Approved? Hell. That seemed a poor